


Precious Little Things

by katherine_tag



Category: Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Epistolary, F/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine_tag/pseuds/katherine_tag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an account of the visitor received at Northanger Abbey before the Tilneys left for Bath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precious Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/gifts).



> Jane Austen's vocabulary is about five times the size of mine, even with a thesaurus, and I cannot hope to match the sheer verbosity or wit of her characters, but I do hope this captures the spirit of her style, if not her prose.
> 
> Thanks to Missa for putting her eyes on this!

The sun arose from his peaceful slumber, peeking over the gentle hills surrounding Northanger Abbey with nary a thought, dear reader, of the momentous day his imminent appearance heralded. Eleanor Tilney, a young lady of such sweet demeanor, such seriousness of thought that never deigned to encroach on that realm of morose emotions so common in the younger set, threw back her duvet and nearly sprang from her bed at the first hint of the sun's rays kissing the window pane. Her heart was aflutter, like a wild rabbit trembling in her chest, and she could scarcely breathe, though the air was crisp and cool.

What could drive such a proper young lady to such heights of emotion as this, early on a Monday morning? First of all, it being a Monday, Eleanor's brother Henry, himself the second son of their esteemed father, General Tilney, and late, lamented mother, who had been a Miss Drummond, was to return to Northanger Abbey, having completed his duties in the neighbouring borough of Woodford as the Reverand. Her older brother, Frederick, was a Captain, and not often at home. Henry, being much closer to Eleanor in age, had become one of her dearest friends, and his visits were often the pinnacle of her otherwise quite solitary weeks.

Eleanor took care in her dressing that morning, choosing a muslin that Henry had told her brought out the color of her eyes. She took the same meticulous care pinning up her hair, leaving a few strands free to curl around her face just so. The clock on her dressing table chimed seven, startling her. She gave her hair one last pat in front of the mirror and went down to breakfast, humming under her breath.

General Tilney was already seated at the breakfast table with his usual fare. He put down his newspaper as she came in. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Father,” Eleanor said. She kissed his cheek before serving herself some breakfast.

“I must go to my office and write a pamphlet this morning,” the General said, sipping his tea. “Do make sure everything is ready for our guests this afternoon. We shall have a late dinner, I dare say.”

“Yes, Father,” Eleanor said. She took a small bite of her toast to hide the flush of excitement that brought a rosy glow to her cheeks at the thought of their expected guests. For, you see, it was not only Henry that was expected at Northanger Abbey that afternoon, but a certain young man and his elderly uncle. This young man had visited Northanger on one other occasion, and had made quite an impression on young Eleanor. His uncle, the Viscount of D----, was a political friend of her father's, and they had spent the whole visit entrenched in his office speaking of things that held no interest for her.

The young man, on the other hand, whose name was Edward Carter, had done his best to be kind to her, to speak to her about the novel she was reading, or accompany her on walks in the gardens surrounding the house. He and Henry had been friendly as well, but it was Eleanor he had asked, ducking his head apprehensively, if he could be so bold as to enjoin her in correspondence.

\---

_Dear Miss Tilney,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Your father and brother are well, too, I trust. The journey back to Uncle's estate was long, but not too arduous. I have met up with some old school friends of mine from H---- now. One of them, Greene,is quite well to do. He is the only son of a physician that keeps a large private madhouse. Sharpe was the last to arrive, just yesterday. He is an Irishman. Then there is Bicknell, who was in my level all the way through. It is very cheerful to have my school friends about me again and even get up to some of the old mischief, though I must say we talk more mischief than we do. There are very few parties given this time of year but I have been invited to some, where I am sure to know a good number of people. I am planning on attending a dinner party next week and I shall bring Bicknell along, as the hostess is in want of another man to make her number even._

_I hope that you will be so kind as to reply._

_As ever your friend, &c._

_\---_

_Dear Mr. Carter,_

_It was with pleasure that I received your letter yesterday. You were in my thoughts the moment I had the letter in hand. Henry's favourite terrier has had puppies, you see, so there has been quite a to do at the Woodston Parsonage this afternoon. She hid them away under the stairs, but we found them soon enough. They made quite a ruckus for being so small! But their little noses are so dear, and their eyes still remain shut. I can hold one in the palm of my hand, they really are such wee little creatures. Henry says you may have one, if you like, as he remembered you had admired his dogs when we visited Woodston before. I told him I could not imagine how we would unite you with the dog, as you live so far away, and he only smiled and said it would be six weeks at least before the pup would be ready to be separated from its mother, in any case. He is so infuriating sometimes! I cannot imagine what he meant._

_Please do let me know how you and Bicknell got on at that dinner party._

_Yours sincerely and affectionately, &c._

\---

Eleanor stood in the hall, holding the trembling puppy in her arms. He squirmed and made an attempt to lick her chin, and she felt herself trembling inside. She had picked him out of all the others for his spirits, but now she was struck with the certainty that Mr. Carter would not approve of him, would have preferred any puppy but the one she now held, and that he was certain to be disappointed. Then, being a practical girl, she took a deep breath and went downstairs to receive their guests.

The General was shaking the Viscount's hand, greeting him warmly. Eleanor's eyes quickly found Mr. Carter, who stood near to the door, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a tall man, with a pleasing countenance that was not quite ruined by a distinctly aquiline nose. He was dressed most properly, and Eleanor thought the cut of his jacket suited his shoulders very well indeed. He smiled when he saw her, and came forward with his arms outstretched. For a moment Eleanor thought he meant to embrace her, and her cheeks heated, but then the puppy let out a sharp bark, and she realized that he only meant to take the young thing from her arms.

“Hello there,” he said cheerfully, bending down so that he could look the little scamp in the eye. “What's this?”

Feeling unusually reticent, Eleanor proffered the wriggling puppy. “If he doesn't please you,” she began.

Mr. Carter took the puppy, cradling him gently. He was still smiling, and their eyes met when he said, “I am very pleased, Miss Tilney, thank you.”

“My brother shall arrive shortly,” Eleanor said. “You may thank him, as it is his gift to you.”

“Ah, but you are the one doing the giving,” Mr. Carter said. “So I shall thank you as well.”

Eleanor lowered her gaze. She was just opening her mouth to make some comment on the unusually beautiful weather, or some such thing equally vapid, when her father rescued her. “Come now,” the General boomed. “Let us not dally in the hall. Dinner has been laid out, if it pleases our guests.” The man himself forged ahead, leading his troops into the drawing room, where dinner had indeed been laid out. The General was a man most particular in his eating habits, and it must be said, he did eat well.

“But Father,” Eleanor said, lingering in the doorway, “Henry has not yet arrived.”

“Latecomers must make do,” the General declared. He was, of course, a military man, and had kept his military bearing as well as the hard lessons he had learned as a young soldier. General Tilney had held forth many a time on the subject of tardiness, and, like countless old soldiers, had no patience for it. Poor Henry was to be much maligned at the meal if he did not make an appearance forthwith, for the General had a captive audience that day at Northanger Abbey.

Mr. Carter had stayed in the hall. “I will just go settle my newest friend in the stables,” he said. “I will not be too long.”

“I will show you the way,” Eleanor said, then blushed, as she knew very well that Mr. Carter had visited the stables before, on several occasions.

“I would be delighted if you would accompany me, Miss Tilney,” Mr. Carter said, and offered her his arm.

Eleanor blushed again. She wondered at herself, that she had apparently transformed into a young lady that blushes at the mere sight of a gentleman in the span of time it had taken for said gentleman to remove his hat. She was not normally a girl with a flighty, nervous nature, our Eleanor. Mr. Carter was, Eleanor thought, really an exceedingly pleasant man. The way his hair curled over his forehead just so, the impeccable knot of his cravat, the gallant way he bowed her through the door, all of these disparate factors added together to culminate in the esteemable Mr. Carter. Not to mention his amiable personality, his ability to converse on a variety of topics and novels, as well as his beautiful penmanship. He really was a fine man, Eleanor thought to herself.

In the stables there was an empty stall full of clean hay, and it was in this place that the little mite, still fidgeting in Mr. Carter's arms, was to spend the dinner hour. He whimpered a bit as Mr. Carter set him down, pawing at the straw.

“I cannot help but think he'll be lonely,” Eleanor said as Mr. Carter shut the bottom half of the stall door. She peered over the top at the puppy, who was busy investigating an invisible but no doubt malodorous particle on the floor.

“He may be lonesome without the company of his siblings,” Mr. Carter said, leaning his elbows on the door. “I wonder, Miss Tilney, if you feel sympathetic pains due to the absences of your brothers.”

“How well you know me,” Eleanor said. “There are not a great many young people so near Northanger.” In fact, before this fortuitous visit, she had been feeling particularly friendless, as Henry had been away more than his usual wont on church business. If only she had a sister, she had thought, someone to wile away the days with in conversation.

“We shall soon be back, however, to relieve him from too many solitary hours.” Mr. Carter offered her his arm again. “I daresay we must make haste, or your father will refuse us a place at the table.”

“He is very particular,” Eleanor said. “He has a strong mind and a stubbornness that knows no bounds.”

They had just exited the stables when Henry drove up in his curricle. “Dear sister,” he exclaimed, leaping down from the carriage and kissing her cheek. “I see our guests have already arrived.” He shook Mr. Carter's hand amiably. “It is truly a pleasure to see you here again, Mr. Carter.”

“Father has already went in for dinner,” Eleanor told him, to which Henry replied, “Well then we had best go in straightaway.”

Later that evening, Eleanor put down her book and said, “Oh, Henry, it is so pleasant that you are here with us at last.”

Henry had been frowning over his next move in his chess match with Mr. Carter, but as he looked at his sister, an expression of fondness settled onto his features. “Not half as pleasant as having Mr. Carter here, I daresay,” he said with a smile. Mr. Carter ducked his head and Eleanor could not decipher what was writ on his face.

“I am sure I have no idea as to your meaning, dear brother,” she said.

“Writing letters is all well and good," said Henry, "but do you not prefer conversation?” He picked up a bishop and placed it decisively on the board. "To be an excellent conversationalist is the highest form of accomplishment. By conversation we may make friends, we may retain them, or we may lose them. We may make the company with whom we associate contented with itself, or we can sow inharmony and discord. By conversation we may take the measure of our acquaintances, and judge them worthy of greater intimacy. I say our success in life largely rests upon our ability to converse well!"

“I find there is a certain art to letter writing,” Mr. Carter murmured.

Eleanor fixed her eyes on her brother. She was aware he was teasing her, and a high color rose to her cheeks. “I agree with Mr. Carter,” she said. “Writing a letter that is both amusing and informative takes a delicate hand, brother. I am afraid it is something certain people among us will never grasp properly.” She snatched up her book again, peeking over the top of its pages at her brother and their friend, who was smiling ever so slightly. His eyes did crinkle up in the most delightful way, Eleanor thought, when he smiled.

Henry affected indignation. “All those terrifically long missives I wrote to you while I was at seminary,” he said, “do not tell me you didn't clutch them to your heart. Pray do not tell me that they did not ease the loneliness my absence wrought! I shudder to think of the bleakness of your existence, Eleanor, during those years of my schooling. Did you not draw one single thread of comfort from my clumsy words?”

“Oh, you know very well that I did!” Eleanor said, casting down her poor abused novel once again. She could not help but rise to the bait of her older brother. “It is so very quiet at Northanger when you are away,” she continued in a more subdued tone.

Henry was immediately contrite, knowing how heavily her solitary friendlessness weighed on his sister. “Dearest Eleanor,” he said, rising and taking her hand. “I shall endeavor to be more present at Northanger. Let us be friends again!”

“You have duties to attend to at Woodston,” Eleanor said, smiling. “Of course you needs must be absent. It is your home.”

“Ah, but it cannot be home,” cried Henry, “for my heart still resides wherever you are!”

"Do not be so dramatic, Henry," she chided her brother. They all three fell silent. Eleanor, not normally given to such excessive thoughts regarding fashion, was at the moment contemplating the lovely spring muslin Henry had brought her, and how Mr. Carter had been most exceedingly complimentary of the color. Although her father showed no interest in those matters, Henry had always been a willing accomplice in her sartorial pursuits, and she did not think it very strange that Mr. Carter be amenable to airing his opinion regarding fabric. As he had revealed to her in one of his letters, he had no sisters or brothers, and his mother, now deceased, had relied on him extensively for companionship as a child.

Mr. Carter picked up a pawn thoughtfully, then set it once again on the board. "You are to Bath after Uncle and I take our leave of Northanger?" he asked.

"Yes," Eleanor said, "directly after."

"I am to journey there the day after tomorrow to make all the necessary arrangements," Henry said. "Eleanor and Father will follow me in a few days time."

"Bath is so pleasant." Mr. Carter sighed. "It is one of my deepest regrets that my uncle cannot be persuaded to travel to that fair city. He insists, despite all the doctor's urgings, that it is detrimental to his health."

"Father is always happy to go," Eleanor said, "but it is perhaps because many of his friends from his military days also make a yearly pilgrimage to Bath."

They had a pleasant evening amongst the three of them, the General and his friend having retired once more to his study to discuss politics. "Things you young people would take no interest in," the General had said, with a derisive sniff, as if to make doubly sure his audience knew his opinions on the oft frivolous pursuits of young people. Eleanor retired to her bed in high anticipation for the morrow, as Henry had decided they would all three ride out and have an afternoon picnic.

\---

The afternoon soon came, clear and bright. Henry declared it was the perfect day for a ride, what with the barest breath of a breeze caressing its way around the trees. They set off in good spirits with a picnic basket packed full of delicious little tidbits and a bottle of lemonade to refresh their palates. Mr. Carter had brought the puppy along, tucked into the front of his jacket, and Eleanor could not resist glancing back every few steps to see the animal's queer little face peeking out from the folds of cloth. Every so often he would yip and growl, as if to celebrate the fact that he was young, and free, and outside. Eleanor felt much the same, though she had of course much more cultured manners, and contented herself with a secretive smile.

Henry was in the lead as the horses ambled along, picking their way along a faint track through the fields. He was whistling, a jaunty tune he had picked up from a school friend the last time they had been together, and his hat was set on his head at an altogether too rakish angle. Eleanor thought him quite handsome, but, as she snatched another glimpse of Mr. Carter and the puppy, she thought Mr. Carter the more handsome of the two. She resolved not to tell Henry of her conclusions. He was remarkably sensitive, at times.

They rode for going on thirty minutes before Henry found a spot declared fit enough for their party. Mr. Carter spread a blanket in the shade of a great old oak that had grown tall on the crest of a gentle rise as Eleanor opened the picnic basket, handing round wax wrapped sandwiches while Henry poured the lemonade.

“It's quite the stroke of luck we are having such fine weather,” Henry said, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his ankles.

“ _All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds, / The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds; / The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze, / And the firm foliage of the larger trees_ ,” Edward Carter recited. The puppy sniffed hopefully at his hand and he fondled its ears absently.

“Eleanor is quite fond of poetry,” Henry said. “Go on, sister. Let us have a spontaneous pageant.”

Eleanor tried to demur, but they both were so vociferous in their insistence, so sweetly complimentary, that she finally acquiesced. She recited a poem I shall not recreate for you here, as it is dreadfully long and far too romantic. Her companions appreciated it with a discerning ear, and please do not think less of them for it. The afternoon passed thus, with the recitation of poetry and discourse on favourite books they held in common. The puppy quickly exhausted himself and soon lay snoring, his head resting gently on Mr. Carter's knee. Eleanor's eyes were oft drawn to Mr. Carter's long fingered hands and the singular curve of his smile. After a certain amount of time had passed, Henry sprung to his feet, exclaiming that he must stretch his legs. Neither Eleanor nor Edward Carter professed a desire to join him in perambulating through the field, so he strode off, a solitary figure in the afternoon sun.

“I feel as though this is a dream,” Eleanor said, plucking a blade of grass and twisting it in her fingers.

“One hopes it is a dream that you wish will never end, rather than one you are relieved to leave behind,” Mr. Carter said.

“I assure you, it is the former.” Eleanor was experiencing a rather queer feeling in her chest, as though she had eaten something that did not, perhaps, quite agree with her. It was a most unpleasant feeling. I assure you, however, that she forgot all about it a moment later, when Mr. Carter was so bold as to touch her hand. The puppy slumbered on, oblivious as most young things to the momentous events taking place directly above its recumbent form.

“I hope you will accept this as a small token of my appreciation,” Edward Carter said, presenting Eleanor with a single sprig of lavender that had previously been pinned to his lapel. “A meager souvenir of the depth of my regard for you.”

“I thank you, Mr. Carter,” Eleanor said. She took the flowers from him, and when he and his uncle had gone away from Northanger, pressed them between the pages of her favourite novel, and I daresay they are still there today.

\---

_Dear Miss Tilney,_

_I must say I could hardly wait until I had set foot in the door of my uncle's house before I wrote to you. I had such a pleasant time at Northanger Abbey. I cannot thank you enough for all your family's kind hospitality. My uncle enjoys his nightly debates with your father, and I did not find my stay unpleasant either. The pup is settling in beautifully. He is very curious and must investigate everything at once, so at times it is all he can do to turn 'round in a circle, his little black nose wriggling, until he finally dashes off in what seems to be three directions at once. I have decided to name him Marco. I'm sure he will grow into a fine dog. Thank you, as well, for the loan of Mrs. Radcliffe's new novel. I began reading it on the journey, and it is as gripping as you had led me to believe. I daresay I will have it finished before the week is out. Once I have done, I shall make you privy to my thoughts on it directly. I do wish we could have accompanied you to Bath, but as I told you, Uncle is convinced, quite against all his doctors' wishes, that the air there will do his lungs harm. It is your duty to keep me apprised of all the smallest details of your weeks in that most pleasant and desirable of locations. Alas, I am here and you are there, and we shall have to make do with letters once again. As your brother said, it is by conversation that we may judge our friends worthy of greater intimacy, however, I must confess I do find my hand frequently more at ease than my tongue._

_I remain your sincere and well-wished friend, &c._

_\---_

_Dear Mr. Carter,_

_I am so happy to receive your letter and learn of little Marco's adventures. Every time your letters arrive, I am in such haste to see what the little scamp has been up to! We have only recently returned from Hereford. Henry begs me to remind you that you have had the best of the litter and that he hopes you will bring him to visit if we should be so fortunate to receive you and your Uncle at Northanger again. The rest of the puppies have all long since found other hearths and homes, though Henry did keep one for himself. He has such a soft heart for innocent creatures. He does not speak of Catherine, though I know he writes to her in secret. If only love were the singular income on which one must depend! I suppose, then, that we would not find the little things, such as letters, or flowers, quite so precious. The roses in the garden have begun to bloom, and the lavender to fade. Oh, it is heaven itself to walk among them and breathe in the scent, mixing pleasantly with the cool evening air. My father has extended his morning walks to take full advantage of the season and on occasion I accompany him. He still will not enter the Scotch Pine walk. As you will remember, it was my mother's particular favorite._

_Henry has promised me a fine muslin from town to-day. I am quite impatient to see it._

_Yours sincerely and affectionately, &c._

_\---_

_Dear Miss Eleanor,_

_It is with great sadness and great joy together that I put pen to page to send you these words. My uncle, as you know from my last few letters, was quite ill, and he was called away to his final rest on Sunday. Last evening, about half-past six o'clock, a sudden change came over him, and at nine o'clock he ceased to live. His sufferings were very great, but he died quite calmly, and was sensible to the last. Of course we are overwhelmed with grief; time alone can soothe our dreadful affliction. What is really quite remarkable is that just yesterday my uncle's solicitors have received a letter from his only son, who is a Major and stationed in India, and he has written to say that he wants nothing of the title and lands, as he is quite content with his holdings in that foreign land, and so his inheritance is to come to me, his boyhood friend and cousin! I can hardly believe it is happening, and yet the solicitor addressed me as 'my lord', as we parted._

_I know that we have never spoken so frankly about our more tender feelings for one another. Please know that I hold you in the utmost regard, and I am under the impression that you have as much regard for me. If I am somehow mistaken, please forgive me. You are so completely the possessor of my affections that I have looked with indifference on every young lady I have met hence._

_If you do not feel the same as I, I shall endeavor to banish you from my affections and I hope we shall remain friends, as letters from you never failed to give fresh zest to the pleasures of life. If you could but give me a kind world I will be the happiest man on earth._

_Believe me to remain ever yours, & c._

\---

Edward stood from where he had knelt to bank the fire. “Well then, your ladyship. Is the house to your liking? Can you possibly be happy here?” He gazed adoringly at his new wife, who had just finished unpinning her hair at the dressing table.

Eleanor leaned forward and took Edward's hand, laying her soft cheek across his palm. “I do believe I shall be happy for the rest of my days,” she said, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Edward receives his title and inheritance in an unrealistic way, but I was at a loss to explain how someone could come quite suddenly and unexpectedly into the landed gentry! In any case, I hope you enjoyed this little story. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
